Delysia brought me here, so it's entirely her fault :D

Post TFA, time-travelling fix-it (sort of, Han is not very good at Fixing It) featuring Force User Leia, cranky old men, cranky sith ghosts, and adventure galore.

Saying that Han was not happy with how things turned out would have been as ridiculous an understatement as walking to somebody who just got trampled by a herd of pregnant Banthas to ask if they were feeling alright.

It hurt, some part of his brain noticed. Yet somehow, the scathing blade lodged in his bowels and charring him from the inside wasn't the most painful thing at the moment.

Han was staring at the face of his son, but the man looking back wasn't Ben.

It looked like him, just a little, he thought as the sounds around him became oddly muffled. Ben had been chubbier when he had last seen him - younger, much younger, even though he kept protesting he was not a child anymore. His pouty cheeks were still full of baby fat and acne spots then.

This man was older and leaner - with striking features that reminded him of Leia - but it wasn't what felt wrong.

It was the eyes, Han realized as he felt his legs giving up underneath him.

Ben had been a difficult child, loud and passionate. It wasn't much of a surprise with the parents life had granted him, Han admitted. As soon as he had been able to communicate, their son had always been so... living. Throwing tantrums or breaking into laughter at the same frequency, with the focus capacity of a night butterfly. Ben was never quiet, never neutral. There was always a fight to have with Leia over his bedtime, a newly invented game to play with Chewie, a millions of questions to ask him about the stars and their adventures.

And so his round little face was always expressive, his eyes glistening with joy or fury or curiosity.

This man, this stranger, watched him fall with eyes dark as the Force, cold as the void, his face nothing but a pale mask.

Under the red, red light, his tears shone like streams of blood.

Where did it go wrong...?

The fall was surprisingly slow, as if the air turned into glue; Ben's face took an eternity to disappear.

It had to be Luke's fault, Han mused as the redness engulfed him - but it wasn't true, it wasn't right, and guilt waved away the intrusive thought.

He couldn't blame Luke.

Luke was alright - a good kid, a smart kid, and entirely too loving for someone who had been through so much pain.

Luke had lost his family and his mentor but had never given up on hope. Luke had turned Darth Fucking Vader against the Emperor through sheer stubborn kindness.

Luke had had dozens of apprentices, kids and adults from all across the galaxy who had come to learn about the Force from the New Jedi.

Only one had turned into an indoctrinated murderer.

No, blaming Luke was unfair and wrong. Ben had been doomed far before Han had dropped him on Tython, his uncle waving at the Falcon from the landing platform.

Ben hadn't said a word during the ride, Han remembered. He had tried to talk to him, monologuing about how cool the ancient Jedi temples would be to explore, and how he was sure he would make new friends among Luke's apprentices, but his son had stayed silent.

He should have seen the signs. Ben's constant loudness was exhausting, and he had often secretly wished that the kid would just shut up for a minute... But this had felt wrong, so wrong.

Still, it had been the right choice. Ben had screamed and kicked the wall so hard it had left a dent, but Han had stood with Leia when she had decided to take him out of school and ship him to her twin.

The Endor incident had been... yet another sign, another one that he hadn't seen - hadn't wanted to see, he corrected. He should have seen.

Would it have made a difference if they had kept him at home? If he had taken it upon himself to bring Ben back into the right path?

Maybe it had been foolish to leave a troubled teen with trusting, compassionate Luke. Maybe he should have slapped some sense into Ben, strapped him to the backseat of the Falcon, and flown into space until the kid was out of voice.

Maybe they could have made things right.

But it wasn't about him, was it...? It had been about the Force. It was always about the fucking Force.

Luke had told him so, long ago - Ben had been an infant still, babbling at the shiny stars that dangled above his bed, making them spin without touching them.

The Force was strong in his son. He should have known it would only bring trouble, but the stars dancing around his baby had seemed so bright, so beautiful then...

He had never understood what the Force was supposed to be, nor what a 'strong Force' felt like - Luke had described it as a very pungent smell, which seemed relevant given Ben's tendency to shower himself in deodorant. Apparently, the Dark Side smelled like sandalwood.

Whatever it was, it had been there, bubbling under the surface of his child's soul like an unsupervised pot of boiling water - and just as dangerous when nobody dealt with it.

It should have been Leia's job, he thought with a tinge of anger. But she had always refused to dabble in the Force, with that soft, implacable voice she only took when things really mattered.

Luke had tried countless times to get her to learn about it (it will be fun come on we can do it together), and she had turned him down every time.

The kid had never mentioned it, but it had broken his heart. Maybe it was a Jedi thing – bitching about the weather or food rations was fine, and stars knew Luke didn't refrain from it, but the true wounds remained silent.

He had found a sister (and nobody ever mentioned the Hoth Incident). A whole new world was unraveling in front of him, mysterious and exciting and oh so full of promises, and he had wanted to share it with her, with the only family he had left…

Yet Han understood. He had always known, even though they had never spoken about it.

Of all the unsaid things between them, of all the talks they had never had, this was the one they had never needed. She had told him about Luke being her brother, and Luke had come back from the sky with a monster he called 'father'.

Leia had never called him so. And when she had turned down Luke's offer to train her, her eyes had found Han's, and he had known.

Leia didn't want to have a single thing to do with Vader (Anakin, Luke called him, but to Han and Leia he would always be Vader).

(Now that he thought of it, maybe unspoken pain was just a Skywalker thing. The twins certainly shared their tendency to run away from uncomfortable feelings.)

(Maybe that was why the three of us had gotten along so well, a part of his mind bitterly hissed.)

Vader had died on the Death star, but he had left a wake of agony that had long outlived him. And his children had not been spared.

The twins had hurt each other countless times along the years - always inadvertently, always out of miscommunication and an ironic refusal to fight - but the most painful scene Han remembered had been about Vader.

They had been on Coruscant, Leia directing a session with the newly elected senators, Han... sitting there, not quite sure why, not understanding half of the political jargon people were spewing around, wondering if this was truly his place - knowing, deep down, that it wasn't.

(It was easy to be a hero when there was a princess to hold your hand into battle, but in times of peace a scoundrel was just a scoundrel...)

And Luke had come in, beaming in his new Jedi robes, and he had asked for the rehabilitation of Anakin Skywalker's memory.

Han was sitting at Leia's right, and he wasn't looking at her face, but he had heard the sharp intake of breath that came out of her, and he had felther turn to ice.

It was one of those moments when he suddenly remembered that Leia was powerful and different and terrible, that the untamed Force inside her bones was just waiting to snap out, like a chained beast biding its time.

She had raised her hand, very slowly, and Luke's voice had stopped.

"No", she had said, and the echo of the word had been entirely unnatural.

Luke had argued. Vader had been a victim of the Emperor. He had turned around in the end. Without his sacrifice, Palpatine would have survived and even the Death Star explosion would not have signed the end of his Empire. It was an important message to send to the old sympathizers, the former imperial officers, everyone who needed to know that redemption was possible. That the new Republic wasn't their enemy, that there was always a second chance...

Some of his arguments had been good, Han had to admit. But it didn't matter to Leia, and quite frankly, it didn't matter to him either.

Vader had killed and tortured thousands of people, Leia had said, and Han had heard again the quiet breathing, the implacable calmness of the black-clad thing while he writhed in agony against the electric rods, begging and wailing and puking all over himself.

He had remembered her nightmares too, the way she flinched in front of needles, the darkness in her eyes when she dealt with the remnants of the Empire.

He had never asked her about that either, but there had been seven days between her capture on the Death Star and their improvised rescue - seven days during which she had lost everything, and then probably some more...

Somehow, he knew.

(But maybe knowing hadn't quite been enough ; maybe he should have told her he knew, told her he felt the same, told her she wasn't alone...)

Luke and his kindness didn't stand a chance. Leia didn't forgive.

It had hurt the kid, he could see it in his eyes. Luke had spent his entire life dreaming of Anakin Skywalker, and at the very end, he had found him. He had brought him to the light, taken his mask off and risked his life to bring his destroyed body back.

And then he had said the unthinkable.

"He's our father, Leia."

The coldness radiating from her had physically made him shiver.

"Your father. Not mine."

Her father, she had quietly reminded him, had died along his entire civilization at the hands of the Empire. Her father had stood against Vader's horrors until his last breath. Her father had burnt alive while his sky turned to fire and the snowy mountains crumbled, and every trace of Alderaan turned to ash and dust.

Her father had been a hero.

Vader had been the torturer who held her still and made her watch as he took everything she loved.

The twins hadn't talked for a while after that. None of them understood that the other wouldn't listen, and Han... well, Han had picked his side long ago.

Still, maybe it had been another mistake. Maybe denying her legacy had only stoked the fire. As soon as Ben had been old enough to ask questions, and refuse to take 'because that's the way it is' as an answer, he had been curious about it.

Leia refused to even mention him, so it had fallen to Han to explain who Vader was and why Uncle Luke and Mom didn't agree about him... (What example of a father had this story given Ben? he wondered)

Maybe obtusely refusing to bring up a subject wasn't the best way to keep away a morbidly curious child.

But Vader was a forbidden topic with Leia (and yes, forbidden knowledge always was the most attractive, and of course nosy little Ben was going to dig into it eventually, how did he not see that coming...)

Han had mentioned it exactly three times, and he regretted each of them.

The first one had been after the Endor accident, when they had gotten Ben back and the kid had locked himself in his room. He had not meant it as an attack, it was just logical to him that perhaps this could be Vader's influence, perhaps there was something tainted in the Force that flowed in his blood...?

Leia had looked at him as if he was a stranger. Three days later, once Ben had been taken care of by Luke, she had asked him to leave.

The second time... he didn't like thinking about it.

And the third had been just a few days ago, an eternity away, as she pressed herself against him and he had wanted to apologize and the only thing that had come out was that there was 'too much Vader in him', as if the Sith was a fucking receding gene, a hereditary illness that sometimes struck and destroyed everything.

It was easier to say than 'I'm sorry'.

It's not your fault, that's what he had meant.

And it has to be Vader's, because I don't want it to be mine either, please let it not be mine...

But it was, wasn't it? Luke and Leia were the two most amazing people he had ever met. Maybe the problem wasn't that there was too much Vader in Ben - maybe there was too much Han...

It wasn't Luke's fault if he was a compassionate man willing to give everyone a chance.

It wasn't Leia's fault if she couldn't deal with the weight of her heritage.

And, Han thought, even with another parentage, one that wouldn't be the masked thing that still haunted his nightmares... the Force still wasn't her.

Leia Organa was a politician, a rebel, a fighter. She was blasters and flower oil, combat boots and regal braids, and sleepless nights filled with quick sex, strategic meetings and terrible coffee.

The content spirituality of the Force, the grand ideas about life and death that ruled the life of the Jedi, the self-satisfaction that came from being in harmony with the world – an expression that Han had only ever heard coming from deathstick addicts and flower-loving indigenous species…

It wasn't her. She didn't care that somewhere inside was a potential very few possessed. It didn't matter that her blood held a formidable weapon, because Leia Organa didn't need that.

Leia Organa was a weapon.

(She used to say, with that predatory smile of hers that showed way too much teeth, that she had a blaster for those her glare didn't kill…)

Oh, Leia.

A pain unlike anything Han had ever felt (which, given that he had just been stabbed with a scathing laser blade by his own son, was saying something) came crushing over him.

He had abandoned her.

Again, a nasty part of himself whispered inside his head. Because this was all Han Solo was capable of, wasn't it…? Leave the cartel. Leave the rebellion. Leave Luke, leave Leia, leave Ben, leaveleaveleaveleave, like an imperious call from the great black void where he belonged.

Did it matter that he came back? That his hunger for love always ended up winning against the shameful knowledge that he didn't deserve it? Not good enough, not brave enough - never enough, not for someone like her - leaving was the right thing to do, even if she didn't see it and he broke her heart.

Her love was wasted on him.

But fuck, did he need it.

He had always thought nobody deserved the kind of happiness Leia had given him, and especially not a fraud of a man like he was...

Maybe that's your problem, a voice said inside his head. Have you considered that she deserves to pick who she loves?

Not me, he thought miserably. Scoundrels don't get the princess. She would have realized it at some point, she would have opened her eyes one morning and seen she deserved better, and then...

Do you think she's blind? Or stupid? You trust her to hell and back, you respect her decisions in literally every subject, but suddenly she's incapable of picking the man she wants? the voice sighed.

It sounded... annoyed.

Of course I'm bloody annoyed. I thought you Skywalkers were done ruining things by running from your feelings, but noooo. It would have been too much to ask, wouldn't it?

I'm not a Skywalker, Han confusely thought. The air (but was it air? it felt more like water now, or some sort of vaporous jelly) was thick and sloppy around him. The weird cloud of cotton inside his brain was expanding around, every thought from his mind pouring out into the open.

Ben and Leia's faces were swirling around him, words and dreams meddling as every memory that popped in his head played out as a spectral apparition.

Oh, please. Hopelessly romantic, stupidly brave, can talk his way out of every situation except those that involve feelings? You're a Skywalker, Han.

What is happening? Han thought. That thought wasn't mine.

No, it's mine.

To Han's utter confusion, the weird magma of sounds and colors coagulated into a familiar silhouette.

Sitting on top of what appeared to be a recreation of Han's first encounter with Lando (oh stars can we skip the Twi'lek thing), Ben Kenobi was staring at him.

What the fuck.

Pleased to see you too, Old Ben snorted. He adjusted his robes, seemingly oblivious to the horrifyingly embarrassing scene behind his sleeve.

What is happening? Han thought as panic started to take over him, tinging the flowing memory soup with a metallic feeling. It clung around him, entrapping his every move - he felt like one of those birds that sometimes got stuck in engine oil, and that you had to mercy kill because once they were glued there was no way of saving them...

It's the Force, Old Ben said. Don't worry.

The Force. What the fucking hell do you mean, the Force? he internally yelled as he tried to free himself from the heavy magma.

That thing, the Jedi said as he waved a hand around. I imagine it must be a little distressing to discover for a Force-blind, but...

What does it want with me?

The flow of memories was swirling faster now, surrounding him with a hurricane of feelings. Chewie's first ride in the Falcon, a kiss under the moon of Endor, a race through the Malachore asteroid field with Lando laughing in the backseat...

And the fall.

Ben's eyes were looking through him, the light red as a blood moon on his features, while in the distance a scream ripped through the darkness. Rey, he remembered with a flash of lucidity, little Rey and her face that looked oh, so familiar... And Finn and Chewie and the First Order and their big ass Death Star Remake and the plan, the mission, he had a job to do he had to get out of there...

He brought the spectral remnants of a hand to his chest, an odious realization dawning over him.

No.

Are you okay? Kenobi asked with a frown as Han tried to draw in a breath - Kenobi was dead, he had died long ago, whatever this was it could only mean one thing...

I can't die. I can't. I can't die right now!

The mental scream rippled through the Force (the Weird Soup, as Han kept calling it in petto). Kenobi scratched his ghostly beard.

Ah. I thought you were taking it pretty well. You just realized...?

I can't die! Han wailed, pain and panic overwhelming his every nerves (except he didn't have nerves anymore, he didn't have anything anymore, he was...)

I'm not dead! I'm not!

You are, Old Ben gently said. I'm sorry, Han.

And suddenly it was unsufferable to see the man they had named their son after, because Ben Kenobi hadn't had a grave or a galaxy-wide ceremony like Alderaan once the Empire had fallen, or even a pyre like Vader. Ben Kenobi had been forgotten by the world, and he deserved to be remembered...

That was very kind of you, the ghost commented with a sad smile. Although I'm afraid...

Don't say it! Fuck you! Shut up!

The Force was a storm now, pounding around him like thunder as thoughts and feelings kept pouring out of him and into the flow.

Let me go! I have to go! I can't...

I can't leave her.

In an unbeating heartbeat that felt like an eternity, the realization unraveled around him.

It wasn't about the First Order and the horrors of their ways. It wasn't about Chewie, dear old Chewie who had walked in his footsteps since he had been a kid, or Luke or Lando or Rey and who she could or could not be.

It wasn't even about Ben, about his failure of a son who had rebuilt the monster which haunted his mother's nightmares.

(How Ben Organa, son of the last princess of Alderaan, could come to blowing up a planet... that was beyond him. Betraying the Jedi was one thing, getting indoctrinated by a rotten-faced Sith was another - but doing this to Leia...)

(It was a terrible thing to hate his own son.)

(It didn't make it any better to know it was reciprocated.)

No, it wasn't about them. It wasn't even about him, or his guilt and failures and mistakes.

It was about Leia.

The tempest around him slowed down, the incessant mix of memories vanishing as only one vision remained.

A bright light, and a smile and a kiss.

'Someone who loves you.'

I can't leave her. Not again.

I'm sorry, Han, Kenobi started, but Han cut him.

You don't understand. I come back. I always do.

Not this time.

I'll find a way. I can't leave Leia. I physically can't, old man.

Old? Old Ben protested. I was younger than you when I died, I'll have you know.

Still old, Han ruthlessly commented as he looked around.

The Force had stopped twirling now, and he felt a strange draw around him, like a deep current pulling him forwards.

Oh, shit. What's that now?

That would be death, the Jedi replied in a slightly vexed tone. It's what usually happens when you... you know... die.

Wait. This, Han flailed about like a drunken fish, isn't death?

No. That's just the Force claiming you. Death is... the next step. The final one. The one nobody knows about, I'm afraid.

What? How about you? You died eons ago! Han protested as he tried to swim against the gelatinous tide.

I'm a Jedi, Kenobi sighed. I've used the Force all my life. It gives me some... privileges.

So, what? You're dead but you can't die?

I can, Obi-Wan quietly said. And I will, someday. I just... stuck around. I had to keep an eye on Luke.

Yeah? Great fucking job, man, Han furiously thought. Really hope those last years were entertaining to you.

Oh, shut up, Kenobi snapped. Do you think I enjoyed any of this? Do you think I haven't had enough of watching the Skywalkers destroy themselves? And, oh, the whole galaxy while they're at it?

I don't know! Han yelled into the current. I don't recall seeing you around to help!

It's not like I could do anything, Han! the ghost yelled back with a pain that burnt like black tendrils around him. All I can do is watch! And occasionnally, talk to those who are willing to listen, which let me tell you, is not exactly a kriffing family trait among you people!

Han stopped struggling for a moment, as Old Ben's despair hit him with full force, echoing with his own in a painful symphony.

I'm sorry, he said after a while.

Yeah, well. Whatever.

So are you gonna give me a hand or what?

You can't stop death from happening, the old man said with a sadness that would have gone right through Han's heart if he hadn't been the one dying.

I don't care about death, he answered. I'm not leaving Leia. She lost Ben already, and Luke, and the Republic - she lost so much, I can't do that to her. I can't break her heart like that.

Five minutes ago, you were bitching about how you didn't deserve her, Kenobi pointed out in a huffed tone. Not that I think you're right, but if it can help you letting go...

It's not about me! Han screamed. I can't put her through that. Losing me - to Ben of all people... It will break her. I can't do that to her.

Technically, Ben did. If it's any consolation.

Han stared at the cloaked Jedi for a second.

You know, you are the fucking worst at making people feel better, Kenobi.

I'm just saying, it's not your fault.

Don't care. I'm fixing this. I have to go back. I have to...

Something in the Force suddenly grabbed him, and Han cried out as he tried kicking what was probably the spectral equivalent of a Weird Soup Crouton.

Get it off me! he wanted to say, but he had no voice to talk with anymore - his sight broke into shiny pieces, as if he was suddenly looking at the stars through millions of different eyes. His very self was floating away, not evaporating but dissolving into the primitive light that flowed around the worlds, everywhere and nowhere, all points of time collapsing into a single, united brightness...

And then something dark cut into the light, like a scream in an orchestral symphony.

He caught a deep breath as the Weird Soup returned, and grabbed tightly the first bit of memory he could get his hands on (a chunky bit that played the one time he had tried to cheat at pazaac with a Hutt, which had been both hilarious and painful). He had never thought he would be happy to see the Force again.

Standing atop a wavy portion of memories that looked like burnt pizza and regrets, Obi-Wan was looking at him with incredulous eyes.

You're gaping, Han obligedly pointed out.

Kenobi didn't close his spectral mouth.

How...?

I take it it's not you I should thank.

What...?

Told you I wouldn't die, Han bragged, but his heart wasn't at it. Feeling everything that composed him merge with that engulfing network of light had not been a pleasant experience.

He looked up, and started gaping as well.

There was a wound in the Force, a gash of darkness that cut through everything like one of those eldritch black holes in the Outer Rim.

What is this...? Ben asked, sending ripples of terror through the Force.

Han reached out tentatively, a dreadful knowledge crunching his heart.

His fingers touched the darkness, and it was like putting his hand in an energy field. A wave of feelings came over him, painful and intense and colored with something he instantly knew, like a familiar smell in an unknown place.

Leia.

He could feel the darkness desperately trying to grab him, the black tendrils swirling around with a panic that matched his own.

It didn't work.

It was like watching a bond unravel that he had never known was there, like a rope teared down to the last thread.

Kriffing hell, Kenobi whispered. And she wasn't ever taught...

The dark thing was widening now, overflowing the Force with a mix of pain and anger, a single word drowning all other sounds like a broken holo on repeat.

No no no no no...

Strangely, Han felt his unexisting heart burst with joy and love, a powerful certitude erasing everything else.

She loves me.

I thought you knew, Kenobi sarcastically remarked.

I thought I did, but...

But he had never truly known, he realized. Deep down, he had always thought he was a default choice - a man who filled whatever criteria she had set, a phase she could grow tired of at every moment, but this...

Oh, for Force's sake, Ben cut him. You needed to die to realize that?

Like you did a better job at handling your problems during your life, Han snapped back.

Low blow, Solo.

The blackness was howling now, shaking the Force with a power he had never measured, surrounding him with an agony that broke his heart.

It's okay, love, he tried to say. I'm coming back. I'll find a way.

Han... the Force can't bring back the dead, Obi-Wan gently said. Trust me. I've tried.

You have?

And that's all I'm ever going to say on the matter.

For a second, Han felt sad for the Jedi - for his pain and loneliness and above all, for the quiet resignation in his eyes. Whatever had happened, life hadn't been any kinder on Obi-Wan Kenobi than it had been on himself...

But there was no time for that now, he decided very selfishly.

I have to get out of that soup.

Soup? Kenobi enquired. What soup?

Han flopped his arms like a toddler in a bathtub.

You know, that Force thing.

It looks like soup to you? the Jedi asked with genuine interest.

I guess? What does it look like to you?

Obi-Wan looked around, and shrugged.

Like the desert on Tatooine. Sand and dunes and sky, and the occasional oasis...

Really? All I see is weird soup.

That's fascinating. You know, there's been a lot of theories about the Force to try and explain why it doesn't impact everyone in the same way. I guess it materializes in different types of visualisations as well.

Yeah, fascinating.

So what kind of soup are we talking about? Edible, or metaphorical, or both...?

Han looked around, trying to make sense of what his overwhelmed senses told him. The shimmering lights and dusty waves looked familiar, but he couldn't quite put his finger on it...

(And it didn't help that he technically didn't even have a finger to put anywhere anymore.)

Then it hit him.

Star soup.

Kenobi stayed silent for a while.

I don't think I've ever eaten that. Is it a Corellian specialty?

No, I mean... Like the cosmos. It feels like space looks.

And it was exactly that - how many times had he lied under the Falcon roof pane, gazing at the unending void - which wasn't a void at all, not when it was so full of lights and shapes and dreams - and drunk the starlight until morning came?

But if it was space, it was missing something...

Concentration rippling around him as he tried to channel the dark energy that Leia was pouring into the Force, he remembered as hard as he could, every detail whizzling to life...

Uh, Ob-Wan said.

Han breathed deeply as he felt the Falcon materialize around him, the familiar bumps of his pilot chair encompassing his back.

Did that do something in your desert? he asked curiously.

Well, your trashcan of a vehicle just landed in my carrots.

Han burst out laughing, his hands dancing over the controls, feeling the black sizzles of electricity running beneath the surface.

That baby has a soul, you know.

A garbage personality is more like it, the Jedi snorted.

Well, I never liked my girls easy, Han replied.

(His boys neither, now that he thought of it. Lando and Fett had been two sides of a same Asshole Coin, and it had never stopped him...)

Hop in, he told the Jedi.

Seriously? You want me to 'hop in' your imaginary spaceship?

It's either that or stay here tending to your imaginary carrots.

Fair enough, Old Ben grumbled as he approached the Millenium Falcon.

He sat in the copilot seat with visible unease.

This isn't right, he muttered.

It's space. I need a spaceship.

That... thing, the Jedi said while pointing at the control panel where the black lights shimmered. I don't know what it is. I don't know how it works. But it's the Dark Side.

No, it's the acceleration lever.

I guarantee you it's the Dark Side.

As long as it accelerates properly, Han firmly replied, I don't give a crap what color it is. Besides... it's Leia. You felt it, same as me.

That's not reassuring in any 's a tremendous power in her, you know.

I know.

No, you don't. You think you do, but you have no idea what she would be capable of if she decided to use the Force.

You don't need to go all condescending on me because I'm...what was it ? Force-blind? Han muttered. I've lived with her for 20 years. I've seen things, Kenobi. I've seen her angry.

Then maybe you do understand, Ben granted. What exactly are you planning to do with that thing?

Han rubbed his forehead, staring at the strange horizon.

I have to go back, he said. And with the intuition that only forty years of piloting could give, he touched a few buttons, grabbed the sticks, and took off.

Oh, hell, Obi-Wan gasped. What are you doing?

I'm flying home.

Han.

You might wanna find something to hold onto, Han added.

HAN.

Sorry, the seatbelt is broken. I always planned to fix it, but you know how it goes, you plan it for the next day, and then the next, and then -

HAN!

What?

You can't go back from here. Nobody can.

Han glanced at his neighbor for a second, and a malicious grin took over his face, erasing the wrinkles of time.

Watch me.

Kenobi yelped when the Falcon plunged down, flows of ghostly dust brushing against the window panes. The gouge in the Force was pulsating, creating unstable currents around the ship. Han swirled around them for a moment, enjoying the strange turbulences that vibrated through the hull.

Do you have a plan? the Jedi weakly asked. Or did you just summon a ship out of dark-sided energy for a laugh?

I have the great lines, Han said. It's a work in progress.

By all means, Ben drawled with so much sarcasm it radiated around him in the Force, do share.

I'm gonna trust Leia.

Good for you, the Jedi said. Glad to learn your marital problems have found a resolution. How is that a plan?

She wants me back. I'm just gonna... fly into that general direction.

Han. That's not a plan.

You're the Jedi! Han yelled. Isn't 'go along with the Force' basically your motto?

That's not how the Force works! For goodness' sake, you don't even know what the Dark Side is! You can't just hallucinate a ship and use it like that!

I don't need to know how it works to pilot it, Han calmly replied.

Pil- oh, fuck me.

The ship had reached the breach by now, curls of darkness waving all around them. His hands scurrying over the controls, Han felt the power surround him, pushing him forwardsforwardsforwards...

And then they hit a wall.

Old Ben hooted as the sudden deceleration made him crash into the windshield.

Told you so, he muttered as he peeled himself off the pane with an audible 'pop'. You can't return. It's over, Han. There is no going forwards from here.

Han stayed silent in his seat, completely unmoving.

Unbidden tears were making their way to his eyes.

But I have to.

His voice was wavering now, matching the trembling tendrils that clasped the ship.

I have to make things right. Please. Let me make things right...

The energy that composed the Falcon was dissolving now, bits and pieces floating away as the darkness faltered.

Leia, please. Don't let go. Let me... let me find a way.

Han was keeping his eyes fixated on the sticks, mostly to avoid looking at Kenobi, staring hard at the flickering lights as if it could stop them from fading away.

And then, as the most insane idea brushed against his mind, they flickered again.

I can't go forwards, he whispered. It's over for this life.

Why do I get the feeling you're not having an acceptance epiphany? Obi-Wan suspiciously asked.

I don't have to accept it. I don't have to go forwards from here. I just have to...

Make it right, a new voice said. It was deep and sad and it came from everywhere at once, but Han recognized it instantly.

I will.

Promise me.

I... I promise. Just give me a course.

The lights shimmered back, a new power flowing through every part of the Falcon, the engines humming with life.

In the distance, a star was catching light.

Um, Ben said. I'm having second thoughts about this. Could you maybe drop me back to my carrots?

Too late, Han singsonged with a new euphoria.

The Falcon was accelerating now, surfing through the flows of energy, dancing in the Force with a grace he hadn't found in years. It wasn't a ship anymore, but the spirit of a ship - a pure extract of speed and movement, a hunger for journey personified.

The black hole was spreading his mass in front of them, drowning every light in an eerie silence. In the distance, far into the darkness, the star kept shining.

As the Falcon reached the gash, darkness swallowed them whole, the Force howling with power like a crowd of millions.

I'm coming back, Han promised. I always do.

The voice inside his head was just a soft whisper, yet as audible as the screams of the void.

I know.

With the most tremendous effort he had ever made, Han reached for the lever. As he pulled it, a flash of unlighted light shone through the ship, and with a last ripple, the Force took them away.

Oh, no, said Obi-Wan.

And they were gone.

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